


This Is My Father's World

by ilikeopera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Dean, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, OR IS IT, Supportive Sam Winchester, Work In Progress, i'll add more tags as i write more, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeopera/pseuds/ilikeopera
Summary: Dean Winchester's just been pulled out of Hell. He knows who did it - his ex-boyfriend-turned-angel, Cas. But when they reunite and Cas doesn't remember him, or even remember that he ever fell, Dean's hurt. Eventually, though, memories start to slip through the cracks, and, with the help of Dean, Castiel starts to catch glimpses of his human life, putting kinks (haha) in God's plan.this is a work in progress :)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	This Is My Father's World

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to let y'all know: when human Cas has dialogue (I think I've made it very clear when it's a flashback/him speaking), I imagine his voice to be like Jimmy Novak's, NOT present-day Castiel's. Dean references towards the end of chapter 1, but I just thought I would make a note of it.
> 
> The idea for this fic was originally to write two, one from Cas's perspective in the past, and one from Dean's perspective after he's been pulled out of Hell. I decided to just write one and write it from Dean's, as I find it easier to relate to him and write in his mindset. 
> 
> Flashbacks are in italics. 
> 
> Please be warned: this first chapter is not explicit, but, throughout the rest of the fic, there will be explicit adult content.

“I invoke, conjure, and command you: appear unto me before this circle.”

_ This is bullshit. _

“I invoke, conjure, and command you: appear unto me before this circle.”

Dean opened one eye and glanced around the table to see if Sam and Bobby were buying this ritual. He’d met a lot of ‘psychics’ in his life, and he was willing to bet that more than ninety-eight percent of them were either master manipulators or outright frauds; he didn’t know yet if Pamela was the real deal or not. But, if Bobby had faith in her abilities (and, right now, he was certainly playing the part, his eyes shut tight, hands holding onto Pam and Sam’s for dear life), then there must be something to her… 

“I invoke conjure, and command you: appear unto me before this circle.”

Just when Dean was about to shut his eyes again, the television in the corner flashed on - static, white noise. The table started to quiver, the candles began to flicker. The energy in the room shifted, and the air crackled, like lightning was about to strike.

“I invoke, conjure, and command y - Castiel?”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. “What?”

“No, sorry, Castiel, I don’t scare easy.”

“Castiel?” Dean asked, seeking confirmation that he really heard what he thought he heard, because  _ this can’t be right, this has to be a mistake. _ He looked from Pamela to Sam, who was already staring at him, brows drawn together in question, clearly on the same confused page that he was. The windows were rattling in their frames, threatening to shatter. The handprint on Dean’s shoulder tingled, like a fresh burn exposed to heat. 

“Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back.”

Bobby’s eyes were still closed. Sam’s were still searching Dean’s face for answers he didn’t have. As a buzzing noise enveloped the dark room, Dean felt a nauseating mix of panic and anticipation bubble up in his middle. “Pamela, you really shouldn’t -”

“I conjure and command you: show me your face. I conjure and command you: show me your face!”

The TV went haywire. A few of the candles blew out. The table’s shaking became violent. Somewhere in the walls, wiring fizzed. The buzzing sharpened to an awful, metallic drone, all too familiar a sound to Dean. He felt like he was going to be sick. “Pam, please, this isn’t a good -”

“I conjure and command you: show me your face! I conjure and command you: show me your face!” 

“Maybe we should stop,” Bobby suggested, having seen Dean’s now white-as-a-sheet face. Their wooden chairs were about ready to crack under the stress. A light bulb popped into shards in the hallway.

“I almost got it. I command you: show me your face! Show me your face,  _ now!” _

“Pam, stop!” Dean shouted, but it was too late; everything happened all at once - the candles flared up towards the ceiling, a golden burst of light flooded the room, the television sparked and sputtered. One of the windows cracked, various occult artifacts crashed to the floor, and Pamela screamed.

As fast as it all happened, it stopped. Pillars of smoke replaced the tall flames, the house went eerily quiet. Pam slumped in her chair, gasping, blood streaming down her cheeks like tears.

“Call 911!” Bobby yelled, rushing to catch her before she hit the floor. Sam flashed another look at Dean as he hurried out of the room to do so, and Dean knelt down next to Pamela, helping Bobby support her. He stared into the holes where her eyes used to be - nightmarish burnt, hollow sockets - and he was shocked enough that it numbed the fiery pain in his shoulder. 

She was blind. Bobby was freaked out of his mind. And Dean still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t keep his head above water. He felt like he was being tricked. More so than ever since he arrived back on Earth, he thought that this was all a joke, some elaborate form of torture Alastair thought up to get under whatever bit of Dean’s skin he hadn’t flayed yet. He  _ knew _ , knew with near absolute certainty, that he was going to wake up strapped to his rack any moment now, all torn apart, Alastair’s sickening laugh ripping through him before he handed over the knife and let Dean get back to carving up his own victims. 

Because this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

And this  _ could not  _ be the work of Cas.

///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\

“Pam’s stable, out of the ICU.”

Sam shoved his cell into his jacket pocket and slid back into his chair at the table they were sharing in a crappy little diner. Dean was rubbing at his forehead, as if that could make the headache go away, his shoulder still stinging whenever the fabric of his shirt brushed against it. 

“And blind,” he said, dropping his hand to the metal table with a  _ thunk _ . “Because of us.”

“Well, not technically because of us,” Sam pointed out with his signature know-it-all look, a face that once used to annoy Dean. “You _did_ try to warn her.”

“Yeah, obviously not hard enough,” Dean sighed, slouching. He wished he was asleep right now, unconscious on a lumpy motel mattress. He hadn’t really gotten to do much of that yet, and he was beyond exhausted - he had to dig himself out of his own grave, for God’s sake.

Sam ran a finger along the rim of his glass. He took a deep breath in through his nose before he spoke. “You really think it’s him?”

“No,” Dean answered with a dry laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “But I don’t know what else could’ve done that to someone. I don’t know what else could’ve had the juice to pull me out.”

“It just...,” Sam trailed off, taking a sip of water. “It doesn’t seem like the Cas we knew. To burn a woman’s eyes clean out of her skull.” 

“Because it’s not my - it’s not the Cas we knew,” said Dean, the prickling heat from the handprint seeming to intensify as he said his name. “Hell, he’s not even the same species.”

Dean flashed back to years ago, back to before Dad died, a few months after Sam left Stanford and started hunting with him again. Back to the middle of the woods somewhere off a deserted highway in northern Pennsylvania, the moon and stars hanging serene above the scene, crickets chirping and an owl hooting, oblivious, not caring that his world was crashing down around him. The memory still hurt, still punched a hole straight through his chest…

_ “I love you.” Dean’s eyes were wet, glistening in the moonlight. Cas’s hands were cradling his face; one of Dean’s was wrapped around his forearm. Several dozen yards away stood Zachariah, pretending to be very interested in the sap on the trunk of a pine tree, probably disgusted out of his celestial consciousness.  _

_ “I love you, too.” Cas ran a thumb along Dean’s cheekbone, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape, despite his best efforts. Cas didn’t have the same concern - he’d been crying silently since well before they even parked the car on the highway shoulder, on and off for days. He didn’t bother to wipe his own tears away as they trudged through the forest, hand in hand, Cas leading Dean to unspecified coordinates. He didn’t need a map or directions; Cas knew where he was going. He couldn’t explain how, exactly, just that he  _ knew _ , like he had an internal compass that only pointed to this one place. _

_ “Then don’t go,” said Dean, giving it one final shot, despite knowing the answer would be no, because they’d been over this. Many times, alone, with Sam, with that damn angelic asshole Zachariah. There wasn’t an alternative route here. _

_ “You know I have to,” said Cas, his voice cracking. “It’s God’s will.” _

_ Dean frowned. He hated all that God talk that Cas had been spewing, ever since he first started getting the visions and connecting to angel radio, since Zachariah showed up calling him ‘Castiel’ and ‘brother’ in their motel room, explained that he’d fallen, but they needed him back. That it was for the good of the world, that Cas would be playing a very important role. What that role was, Dean didn’t know. Cas didn’t know, either, although Dean suspected there were things that he wasn’t telling him. That he wasn’t  _ allowed  _ to tell him. “Yeah, well. God’s a dick.” _

_ “Hey,” Cas forced a laugh, trying (and failing) to lighten the mood, giving Dean a gentle shove on the shoulder. “That’s my father you’re talking about.” _

_ Dean made himself chuckle along; the sound choked off in his throat. He drew in a shaky breath and tried to steady himself. Everything about this seemed so wrong. The setting was far too calm, too romantic. It felt like everything should be chaos, like trees should be falling down, like there should be thunder and lightning and torrential rain. The serenity mocked him. It reminded him of what he was about to lose. He stared into Cas’s eyes, his own personal, cloudless blue sky, trying to find the right words to say. There weren’t any - or, rather, there were too much. He couldn’t decide. Eventually, Zachariah impatiently clucked his tongue, a signal that this goodbye was taking far too long. _

_ Dean felt very near to sobbing. His legs felt numb. He pushed out the first cohesive sentence his brain could put together. “I’m never gonna see you again.” _

_ Cas made a little sound in the back of his throat, like a whimper. He looked conflicted - Dean knew his different expressions, knew what each one meant. His brows were drawn together, and he had that far-off look in his eyes, like he was reading an imaginary pros-and-cons list. After a moment, he leaned into Dean, hugging him tight, burying his face in the crook of his neck. And then, he whispered, barely audibly, very slowly, as if he wanted Dean to really dwell on his words: “Never say never.” _

_ “What?” Dean whispered as Cas pulled back, his hands returning to the sides of Dean’s face.  _

_ Cas nodded once, a miniscule action, and, again, very slow. Clearly a gesture met just for Dean, one that was supposed to fly under Zachariah’s radar. Cas looked over his shoulder at the angel, gave him a much more visible nod, and then turned his attention back to Dean, his beautiful eyes tinged red, a devastatingly sad smile on his even more beautiful face. Dean thought then that he should’ve realized he wasn’t from Earth sooner - he was far too perfect to come from such a broken, ugly place.  _

_ Cas’s hands were starting to shake; he dropped them from Dean’s cheeks to his chest. “I need you to close your eyes, okay? And I need you to promise me you’ll keep them closed, no matter what you hear. Please, Dean, promise me.” _

_ Dean took one last, long look at Cas, at this wonderful being who he loved, who somehow loved him back, who he didn’t even get to spend a year with. Because nothing good ever lasts, nothing he needs ever sticks around. And then he squeezed his eyes shut, reluctantly, but he did. Because Cas asked him to. “I promise.” _

_ There was another choked, crying noise from Cas, and then he pressed his lips softly to Dean’s for the very last time, an action that Dean regretted ever taking for granted now that it was about to be out of his reach forever. It felt like something had been torn from him when Cas pulled away. “Thank you for everything. I’ll always be yours, Dean.” _

_ Dean wanted to protest, wanted to beg Cas or Zachariah or, hell, even God not to do this, to find another way, pick another damn angel to play whatever part they wanted Cas so badly for. But he knew it would be useless. That he’d only be making this even harder than it already was. So he swallowed hard and said, “I’ll always have you. My Cas.” _

_ When Cas’s touch left his body, Dean felt empty. When he heard the foliage crunch under his feet as he walked away, he thought he might collapse. But what really destroyed him was the bright, searing flash of white light, so vivid that it made his eyes burn underneath their lids, that it left the exposed skin of his face, neck, ears, hands pink, like he’d spent all day directly in the hot summer sun. A wild wind blew through the trees, the air sparked with energy.  _

_ And after a few seconds, seconds that felt like an eternity, it all stopped.  _

_ Slowly but surely, the sounds of the night crept back in. The crickets resumed their chirping, a frog got back to ribbiting, the owl hesitantly hooted again, all while Dean stood alone with his eyes shut. He stayed like that until he knew it made no sense to anymore, that whatever Cas didn’t want him to see was long past, that he was gone, that he wasn’t going to pop back into his reality and run back into his arms. Until he knew he was alone. _

_ And when he finally opened his eyes, when they adjusted to the empty, dark woods, Dean sunk down to knees, the damp earth failing to comfort him as the cracks in his carefully patched emotional dam burst… _

“... a spell out there somewhere, right? Dean? Dean.”

Dean shook his head, Sam’s voice pulling him back to the present. “I - what?”

“I said,” started Sam, throwing a concerned look at his brother, “There has to be a summoning spell somewhere. We should ask Bobby, he’d know.”

“No way,” Dean objected, perhaps a bit too quickly, almost dropping the glass he was lifting to his lips. 

“Why not?” asked Sam.

“Because,” said Dean, leaning forward, elbows on the red tabletop, “I’m not telling Bobby about Cas. You know how hunters are about… that sort of thing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell him you were  _ with  _ him. Just that you knew him a long time ago, know what he is now, and does he have a book that has directions for summoning an angel?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean dropped his face into his hands and laughed once, sarcastic and short. “D’ya ever stop and think about how fucking ridiculous our lives are?”

“My four-months-dead brother just showed up this morning after getting pulled out of Hell, very possibly by his ex-boyfriend-turned-angel,’” said Sam. “So, yes, I have.”

Just then, the waitress dropped off their order. Sam, ever the polite one, uttered a small ‘thanks’, and Dean was just excited,  _ unbelievably  _ excited, to eat - death will do that to you. But the woman pulled up a chair and sat herself right down with them.

Dean looked from her, to Sam, and then back to her. “You, uh… you jonesing for a tip or something?”

“Just wanted in on the conversation,” she said, and then blinked her hazel eyes pitch black. Both of the boys tensed up; another demon moved to block the door. The place was crawling with them. The waitress’s eyes turned back to normal, back to the poor vessel’s. “Dean Winchester. To Hell and back again. What a lucky guy.”

“That’s me,” said Dean. And then, after a beat, he slapped the thing straight across its face.

///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\

Later, when Dean was woken up by that same television static, that same awful noise that assaulted him at the gas station and Pamela’s, the memory of Cas in the forest, of him telling Dean to  _ never say never, _ flashed into his mind through the pain. And when Bobby burst in, just as the glass shattered around him, just as the handprint on his shoulder was so red hot that it felt like it’d been freshly rebranded, Dean got a feeling deep in his gut that said,  _ yes, this is Cas, my Cas, it’s him, he pulled me out, he did it. _

And so, when the sound and pain faded, when he managed to push himself off the floor, he told a very scared looking Bobby, “I know who it is. How much lore do you got on angels?”

///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\

It was nearing four-thirty in the morning when they finished setting up the barn. It took a while to convince Bobby that it was remotely sane to attempt this - although, neither of them weren’t  _ that  _ convinced, and the little information they were able to find at Bobby’s wasn’t too promising in the safety department. The very difficult part was the symbols they had to replicate - they were in Enochian. Dean remembered discussing the angel-speak with Cas, when he first started getting messages from Heaven:  _ “I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I can understand it, and it’s rough on the ears. Definitely not one of the Romance languages, if you know what I mean.”  _

Dean didn’t want to wait around for Sam. Bobby protested, but, the truth was, Dean didn’t really trust him. Something seemed off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he thought it was a better idea to leave him out of this. So he lied and told him that he and Bobby were going out for a few beers, just like he was pretty sure Sam lied to him about being hungry. 

Everything was ready and set up, the candles all lit and in their quadrants, every Enochian symbol drawn as accurately as they could manage. The last thing they had to do was light the bowl full of various herbs, dried flower petals, and other ingredients - good thing Bobby had an expansive collection. Dean felt incredibly nervous, in his stomach and in each of his limbs; he didn’t know if it was fear about the ritual failing or anticipation for seeing Cas again,  _ finally  _ seeing him again, all these years later. After a deep breath, he pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it so its tiny flame flared up for a second. “You ready?”

“Hell, no,” said Bobby, clutching his gun full of rock salt rounds to his chest. “You sure this guy isn’t gonna kill us? Burn our eyes out?”

“Nope,” Dean raised his brows for emphasis, “But we’re about to find out.”

Ignoring Bobby’s angry gaze, he knelt down, flicked the lighter again, and held it to the dish. It took a few seconds to catch fire, but, once it did, it burned bright, filling the barn with a scent very similar to incense. The flimsy building and the field surrounding it remained silent, save for their breathing. Bobby looked at Dean, and Dean shrugged. “Maybe we drew the symbols wrong.”

But then, as if on cue, the dim orange light bulbs flickered, and the tin roof began to shake in a sudden whirlwind - it sounded like a tornado was roaring through. The hair on Dean’s arm stood on end, the air full of static electricity, and Bobby aimed his gun at the barn door. Dean instinctively reached for the demon knife on his belt, even though he knew it would be useless against an angel. 

The barn felt like it was about to collapse when the doors swung open, and in from the dark night walked -

_ Cas. _

It was Cas, yes, maybe slightly older, disheveled, wearing a trenchcoat and a rumpled tie for some reason, hair all over the place, but it was  _ him. My Cas. _

He was staring Dean down, not looking entirely angry, but not looking exactly joyous, either. His expression was sort of… blank. It took Dean aback. It’d been years, wouldn’t he be excited to see him…?

That train of thought was interrupted by the sound of gunfire, of Bobby shooting round after round at Cas, hitting him square in the chest, blood pooling on his white button-down. 

_ “Stop!” _ Dean screamed at Bobby, lunging towards him. He did, but not because Dean told him to - it was because Cas had stopped in his tracks a couple of feet through the entryway and was looking down at his own chest, watching the blood on his shirt rapidly fade, leaving just the tattered holes in place as the only evidence of his being shot. He slowly looked back up at Bobby, squinting, then stalked towards him, and effortlessly bent his rifle in half. 

Bobby shook his head in disbelief. “What the -”

But, before he could finish, Cas touched two fingers to his forehead, and he collapsed to the dirt floor. Dean gasped; Cas turned towards him, wearing that same blank expression.

“Do not worry,” he said, in an unfamiliar, gravelly voice. “Your friend is not hurt.”

Dean was still panicked, staring at Bobby’s crumpled body on the ground. “What the  _ fuck, _ Cas?!”

Cas tilted his head to the side. “My name is Castiel.”

“What? No, I know that,” said Dean, shaking his head, confused.  _ Of course, _ he knew his name. 

Cas squinted again. “So you were able to understand me when I had previously tried to initiate contact.”

Dean was not following. Not at all. “I -  _ what?”  _

After a moment, Cas righted his head, and took a step towards Dean. “My name is Castiel,” he repeated. “I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Dean was expecting a hug or something. Maybe even a kiss - they hadn’t parted on bad terms, after all. But this Cas… this Cas was  _ different _ . He wasn’t warm, his eyes didn’t light up the same way. The five o-’clock shadow and business man get-up didn’t look bad, but it certainly wasn’t Cas’s style. And his  _ voice _ … “Why are you talking like that?”

Cas’s chin jutted out in question. “I have not inhabited a human form in well over a century. It takes some time to get accustomed to. I apologize if you find my voice unpleasant. Would you prefer that I use my true voice, that one that I have used the previous two times that I have attempted to speak to you?”

_ A century? What the hell - _

And then, it clicked. This Cas felt different because it  _ wasn’t  _ Cas - well, it  _ was  _ him, but a different version of him. This was not Dean’s Cas. It was Castiel, the angel.

And he didn’t remember Dean, nothing about him at all. Nothing about his human life when he fell, nothing about their time together.  _ Nothing.  _

Dean felt like he’d just been hit with a cannonball. A ton of emotions barreled into him, more than he could process. It was overwhelming and  _ sad _ , so sad - Dean hadn’t considered the idea that Cas might not remember him, and now that that proved to be the case? It felt almost as bad as when he left, as when that bright light swallowed him up and stole him away. Dean couldn’t look at him anymore; his eyes dropped to the ground, the horrible thought to stab this Castiel with the demon knife crossing his mind, wanting to make him feel any bit of the pain he was in. 

As long as a minute of horrible, stretching silence passed before Castiel spoke again. “You do not have to be afraid. I am an angel of the Lord, I am not going to hurt you. I pulled you out of the pit at the command of my Father. It is God’s will that you have been resurrected, Dean Winchester.” 

Hearing his name come out of Castiel’s mouth made Dean shudder. It somehow sounded both wrong and euphoric at the same time; it wasn’t his Cas’s voice, but, yet, it w _ as _ Cas, and it’d been so long since Dean heard him say his name… but that was pushed towards the back of his mind as he tried to process the rest of what he’d just been told. He didn’t understand. What did God want with him? He’d made a deal with a demon, he’d been  _ torturing  _ souls - it didn’t make sense. Dean finally met Castiel’s blank eyes, his own betraying him, wet with tears. It took him a moment to remember how to speak. “Why me?” 

Castiel took another step towards him, a little too close for comfort. It was so strange, not seeing a smile on his face - his Cas used to always have the hint of a one on his lips. He titled his head to the side again; Dean watched a stray strand of dark brown hair fall across his forehead. “You do not think you deserve to be saved.”

Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t have anything to add - Castiel was right. He absolutely did not think anything about himself made him worth saving. He shifted, uncomfortable.

Castiel looked into his eyes for far too long, an amount of time that would make any human anxious - just another reminder that he wasn’t his Cas. Eventually, he backed a few feet away, saying, “You must have faith, Dean. God has found favor with you. You are destined to do great work for the glory of Him and all the hosts of Heaven.”

That didn’t help clear anything up.  _ What  _ work?  _ What  _ glory? Dean felt very broken, very hollow, and Cas talking to him like he was the goddamn angel Gabriel telling Mary that she’d been divinely knocked-up only made things worse. Before he could stop it, grief for the man he loved, the one he thought he was going to meet again that night, slipped through. “Who are you?”

“I have told you. I am an angel of the Lord,” said Castiel, and then a bright white light accompanied by a hurricane-like gust of wind flooded the barn, illuminating sweeping, black wings that unraveled from Castiel’s back. They spanned the entire width of the place, shimmering and iridescent. The sight was both overwhelmingly terrifying and - and  _ beautiful _ . Dean had never seen anything like it. It was mesmerizing, like the way he felt when he saw the Grand Canyon for the first time. 

When his wings folded back in, when the light faded and the barn returned to its badly lit state, Castiel once again closed the space between him and Dean. He pressed his hand to Dean’s shoulder, to the exact spot where the handprint,  _ his  _ handprint, was. When he did so, the dull stinging subsided, and his hand fell back to his side. “There will always be a scar, but it will not cause you any further pain.”

Dean’s own hand covered the spot; he found himself wishing that Cas’s hand had lingered there a little longer. “Thanks.”

Castiel nodded once, unblinking, and then he was gone. Dean whipped around, searching, but there was no trace of him - it was almost like he was never there.

As Bobby stirred on the ground, Dean’s mind raced. There was too much to process, too much to make sense of altogether in that moment, too many emotions. It hurt so much that Cas didn’t recognize him, all of the Heaven talk was mind-bending, the idea that God  _ needed  _ him, Dean Winchester, for something was incomprehensible. He wasn’t sure that he’d even consider believing it if it had come from anyone else but Cas. 

_ Cas.  _ It wasn’t his Cas, no, but yet, he still stirred something in Dean, the way his Cas used to. Fear, but also awe, wonder. Like how an especially clear night sky made him feel so insignificant, but in the best way. Because it reminded him of every little thing that had to conspire in just the perfect way over the course of billions of years to lead to his existence. How his tiny, little blip of a life managed to worm itself into the infinite sea of time. How absolutely incredulous it was that he was here, feet planted on this Earth, a planet perfectly designed for his dumb, disasterous species. 

That’s how his Cas used to make Dean feel. And now, somehow, Dean was thinking that this new version? It might not be that far off from the old. 


End file.
